


It knew no lapse, no Dimunition

by middlemarch



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Biblical References, Candlelight, Domestic, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: It was the simplest kind of wealth.





	It knew no lapse, no Dimunition

Demelza would never stop appreciating the beeswax candles, the purity of the light they cast and how beautiful everyone was in their glow. The children were always lovely and Ross never less than the handsomest man in the county, though well he knew it and never bothered about it, but the candles showed Prudie to advantage, the curve of her cheek, and had set Verity’s kind eyes in beaten gold. There was a leonine grace to Jud’s drunken sprawl and she could see the vivacious belle Aunt Agatha had once been, long ago before a veil of wrinkles had fallen over her and troubles pursed her red mouth. The candles smelled sweet and clean, of the meadow and its plundered flowers, and they didn’t smoke or sputter. The shadows they cast were dainty as butterflies, comforting as the tide coming in at the cove. She trimmed the wicks happily and surveyed the drawer that held them like a treasure chest. Demelza remembered the long darkness and the stink of tallow or whatever turning oil her mother’d found to burn with a bit of rag and she remembered Ross’s face when he had lit the first taper, when she had begun to understand how new the world would be. She could not confess how she imagined the Lord smiling as he struck the first match, separating the light from the dark like the yolk from an egg, not to anyone, but she felt the blessing of it every day and gave thanks in her prayers

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a lovely picture on Tumblr, of Demelza lighting a candle, looking for all the world like a Vermeer. The title is from Emily Dickinson. Demelza is remembering Genesis 1:2.


End file.
